Darkest Before the Dawn
by RayneXHatake
Summary: When successful merchant Francis Bonnefoy was young, he promised to never allow his children to suffer like his unbonded mother had. So when his youngest son finds himself in a similar predicament, he turns to an old friend. Unbonded and lonely, Lord Arthur Kirkland agrees to an arranged marriage with Alfred. Unfortunately, their marriage is filled with heartache. Omegaverse! UKUS
1. Prologue

I know, I know, I know, you all probably want to kill me right now. I've been busy. I graduate from college in December and I'm taking several seminar classes that require constant attention. Life just got in the way. Never fear, dear fans, I'll be spamming you guys with stories for the next few weeks. And since I'm taking a semester off of school to work on my own original story, you'll be seeing updates to other stories.

Now, I'm totally jumping on the bandwagon here with this Omega-verse story. The logistics are the same here, except this story isn't set in Modern Times. I'd set it probably about the late Victorian Era, just because of how much I emphasize this idea of conformity to society and stuff. Again, Arthur takes the traditional role as the Alpha, Alfred takes the role of the Omega, but this story isn't about that, it's about the disappointing realization of limited fertility and this idea of arranged marriage, and rape during the Victorian Era. Should be interesting.

Starts happily and gets increasingly dark.

Enjoy.

* * *

It was the giggling that woke him up that morning.

Well, to be honest, it was always the morning giggles of those two precious, little boys that made his heart swell with emotion and his eyelids flutter open. In a strange way, he felt like it was his way of reassuring himself that the wild haired, blue eyed boys were really there with him. That his sons existed when he thought they never would. He remembered all too well the desolate, childless future he'd imagined himself having all those years ago. He remembered the lonely future he'd set aside for himself before his shining mate was dropped into his lap.

"Poppa?"

The curious voice of his youngest son calling for his mate startled him from his walk down memory lane. Snapping his mind right back into the bedchamber where his blond mate rested, a solid warmth pressed against his back, and their twins peeked innocently over his side of their king sized bed.

"Maverick!" It was Oliver, with his barely noticeable lisp catching over the 'v' in his younger brother's name, who quickly shushed the other boy. "Poppa's still sleepin' an' Daddy said Poppa needed his sleep."

His mate shifted against his back, smiling into his wool nightshirt as he brought his arms up to wrap around his middle. Alfred, his darling Omega, had probably been awake since the twins first climbed out of their beds. Simply waiting on them to grow bored with their toys and find their way into their bedchamber. He'd always been so in-tune with the boys, even when they were barely days old and did nothing but cry.

Alfred shifted once more, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss against the back of his neck. He ignored the excited squeals of the boys as they attempted to scramble into the bed. "Mornin' Arty."

Arthur chuckled as he turned in his mate's arms. "Morning, love." Leaning forward, he placed a loving kiss on the other's lips, smiling widely as the Omega broke the kiss and nuzzled his face into the juncture of his neck.

Maverick scrunched up his nose at the kiss, forcing his thicker-than-normal eyebrows to squeeze together, as he pushed his way between his parents. He growled lightly at Arthur as he attempted to intertwine his fingers with Alfred. Arthur raised his own abnormally large eyebrow at the simple defiance showcased by his little Alpha. Alpha children usually started branching out and testing their dominance around puberty, their parents being their first targets. Of course, Maverick was definitely his Poppa's son alright. All bold defiance and strength, regardless of what high society said he should be. But even the territorial side of Arthur couldn't get mad at his son, especially not when Alfred gently bopped Maverick on the nose.

"Hush all that growling. I was Daddy's long before I was yours."

Hiding his grin and the pleased flush at his mate's words, Arthur watched as his son's baby blues turned toward his mate as he rubbed his nose. "I'm sorry Poppa, but I'm hungry. Daddy sent the chef home." The boy whined as he nuzzled underneath Alfred's chin.

Alfred purred sweetly as he ran his fingers through his son's feather-light hair. "Hungry? Surely you're not too terribly hungry. Didn't I find you downstairs with cakes and hot chocolate last night?"

Maverick giggled as he leaned forward, "It was cold last night."

"Poppa wasn't aware of the cold last night, sweetheart." Alfred gave Arthur a feral grin and wicked wink over the top of their son's head. Arthur rolled his eyes, hoping his blush stayed down. Of course, he usually had no control over such things whenever his sinfully sexy mate decided to tease.

"Alfred, please don't traumatize the twins." Arthur made an attempt to get out of bed. "I'll go whip something up in the kitchen."

Maverick paled, his blue eyes standing out even more. "No, Poppa! Don't let him do it. You promised Daddy wouldn't cook for us anymore, 'coz last time we got really sick."

Arthur sputtered in disbelief as Alfred snorted in laughter. Maverick looked entirely too pleased with himself as he burrowed closer to his Poppa's warmth. Sensing he had no friends with his trouble makers, Arthur turned to his little Beta child, only to not see him on the bed.

"Oliver?"

"Down here Daddy."

Arthur sat up and looked over the edge of the bed to see the child sitting on the ground with a pout across his face.

"What are you doing down there, pet?"

Little lips quivered as tears filled those blue eyes. "Maverick pushed me! And he stepped on me!" Shushing the child, Arthur picked him up and placed him in his lap. Cuddled up with his Daddy, Maverick sniffled. "He's a meanie."

"I did not!" Maverick shouted defiantly from Alfred's side.

"Yes, you did!"

"No, I didn't! You're just being a baby!"

"I'm not a baby!"

"Hush that fighting right now!" Both boys quivered and instinctively moved closer to Alfred as Arthur frowned at them. "We're going to have a peaceful morning. No arguing, no hitting, no being mean at all. Am I understood?"

Both boys looked down at the dark brown bedcover. "Yes Daddy," they repeated in perfect unison.

"Good," Arthur said as he crossed his arms over his lap.

Alfred snorted as he leaned over and kissed the grimace off his mate's lips. "Hey now, no being grumpy. Today's a special day."

"They're behaving like..."

Arthur stopped talking as Alfred leaned closer and whispered into his ear. "Arty, calm down, they're just being little boys. Remember how irritated you used to get whenever people told you I was trouble? The boys are acting exactly like I did when I was young. At least they're not Omegas."

"Only your children would cause as much trouble as they do."

Alfred laughed as he stood up to stretch. "Okay boys, stay with Daddy, I'll go make breakfast." He walked over to the bedroom door and winked back at the others. "Try not to forget about me while I'm gone."

Arthur tried really hard not to scoff at his mate, but with the kids giggling against his side, he couldn't help it. Alfred only nonchalantly sauntered out of the bedchamber and down the hall. Left with his boys, Arthur grinned wickedly before suddenly pouncing on the twins, attacking their ticklish spots vigorously.

"No, Daddy, no!" Oliver shrieked with laughter as he attempted to get away. Maverick didn't even try to get free, simply twisting and flailing his body in a sad attempt to keep those merciless fingers away from his ticklish spots.

Once the tickling attack stopped, Arthur found himself comfortably splayed on his back with his children curled up against his sides. With one on each side, it was easy for the Alpha to run his fingers through their wild, blond hair and gently let the silence in the room lull them into a peaceful calm.

"Daddy?"

"Hmm?" Arthur answered. He wasn't exactly sure which twin questioned him and his eyes suddenly felt too heavy to check.

"Tell us a story?"

Cracking open an eye, Arthur looked down into Maverick's eyes. "A story?"

Maverick nodded, "Yeah, one about you and Poppa. Before we were born."

Arthur smiled to himself, "A story about me and Poppa from before you was born? Hmm. I may have just the story."

"Really?" Oliver exclaimed as he moved closer to hear the story.

Arthur nodded, "Yes, but it's a long one. It starts long before you two were born, in fact, it starts before me or your Poppa was born too."

"Really?" Maverick breathed out, entranced already by the story.

Arthur nodded, "It started many years ago with your frog of a grandfather, Francis Bonnefoy…"

* * *

I've always had this attachment for Francis being Alfred's father figure. He's just so darn fatherly and it gives me the warm fuzzies to think about the French help during the Revolution.

*puts on cool shades* Yep, History major here and proud.


	2. Chapter 1 Part A

This got a lot more attention than I originally thought it would. I'm so very excited about this story and hope you guys are too. This story has a really strange plot pattern. It's a new style I'm working with as a writer and it's really difficult to explain. Pretty much it'll hop between the past and present between chapters.

You'll get to hear the history of this Bonnefoy-Jones-Kirkland family at the same time see the difficulties that are still within the family. Someone mentioned in a review that the M-rating was a big much for the twins to hear in a story, well, I thought the same thing which is why this style works so well. The twins are going to be sheltered, but at the same time, this is some sort of world like Victorian Era England, but it's not exactly the same. Confusing, yes?

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy the story and if you have any questions shot me a message, I'm more than willing to answer questions.

* * *

Francis Bonnefoy was many things growing up. A bastard, a wimp, an unwanted, a mistake, a good-for-nothing beta, the local whore's son, but most importantly, Francis was a dreamer.

Ever since he was a little boy, he had vivid dreams. Sometimes those dreams were filled with happiness and light as sweet as cotton candy. Other times his dreams were sad and bitter with anger and desperation. Of course, every once in a while he had dreams so horrible and vile that he would jump out of bed with his heart thundering inside his chest and a scream ripping from his throat.

"Night terrors," his mother called them as she cooed soft French into his ear. "They cannot hurt you, my angel."

He believed her and, for the most part, she was right. His dreams, those horrible night terrors, could not hurt him. The only thing that could hurt him was reality. Like the harsh reality that came from being the child of an unbonded omega.

That reality was filled with sharp words of disgust and searing pain when others thought he was acting 'above his station'. Being the son of a 'whore' gave him no liberties. Daily he experienced the pain of being shoved or ignored because of his title, because his mother had no bonded mate. His entire future relied on that fact that his cowardly father hadn't wanted them, hadn't wanted him. The knowledge hurt. It hurt and burned and created a fire deep within Francis that tormented and molded his very being.

With anger in his heart and determination in his brain, Francis strove to overcome his station as the bastard child of a teenage, unbonded Omega. It wasn't easy. His mother wasn't educated, nor did she possess an extraordinary skill. Her occupations were limited and all the choices involved back-breaking work or unsavory tasks. Mostly the jobs she did get were low paying, with most of her wage going towards rent and food. Because his mother did not have the extra cash lying around, Francis's education relied on local schools. Unfortunately, the church run schools tended to shun illegitimate children. They couldn't afford educating him in one of the prestigious public schools scattered across the country. Even an apprenticeship with the local butcher or shoemaker was out of the question. No one wanted to take on the village bastard as an apprentice.

Francis was out of options in his tiny village. His lack of education and legitimacy could only get him the same back-breaking and unsavory jobs his mother had. Working in factories or on his back simply didn't appeal to the future Francis wanted. His village was a dead-end and he was drowning under the weight of the villager's judgments.

So, one day, after his sixteenth birthday, he kissed his mother goodbye and left. He didn't have much, only a pack of his finest clothes, a special sewing kit from his mother, and his very small life savings, but he lived freer than he ever had inside his home village. Outside of his home village, hundreds of miles away, it was easy to pretend that he was somebody else. The bastard-child Francis was simply Beta Francis. It became easy to claim a mother and a father, even if he usually declared his father deceased.

He grew in that first year.

He learned to become something like a chameleon. Finding out what mannerisms to drop and adapt to be accepted amongst the high society's inner circles. He learned to use the sewing kit his mother gave him. With it he fixed his shabby clothes into a resemblance of the latest fashions sweeping through the French countryside. He grew his hair long and always kept it messily tied with a colored ribbon. Somewhere along the way he even grew a beard, trying his hardest to keep it looking classy and not scruffy.

It was hard, at first, to integrate into the societies of each town, but Francis was excellent at it. By using the same skills the neighborhood confidence man showed him when he was nine, Francis charmed his way into houses and businesses.

At first, Francis let the boyish innocence of his youth catch the attention of parents. Fathers would playfully cuff his shoulders as he blushed at a dirty joke or listened intently to their advice. Mothers would supply him with sweets and breads to keep him stuffed for days.

He wanted for nothing in those first months. He may have been living in an abandoned shack on the out skirts of the village he was visiting, but he had food and warm clothes.

And then, Francis learned to flirt.

God did Francis love flirting.

He learned to read the atmosphere and slyly snaked his way into promising situations. Flirting with all Natures and genders, Francis found himself surrounded by people who thrived on his attention. It was so different from his childhood that sometimes, when the parties were over, Francis would go home at night and think over the injustice. Someone who wasn't used to so much attention suddenly found himself with too many people wanting his attention. His days became filled with young men and women. Betas and Omegas alike flocked to Francis just to catch a witty compliment or receive an accidental, errant touch. Even the occasional curious Alpha sauntered over to Francis during the high society parties and was highly pleased with his entertaining banter and nearly perfect reactions.

Francis became a highly sought after partner, even if he never stayed in the same village for more than a month. He was handsome, maybe not as sturdy looking as most would have liked, but his blue eyes were bright and his skin was clear. His tumbleweed ways made him even more desirable as did the mystery surrounding his past. He never wanted for a person to talk to.

The attention may have been pleasing to Francis, but something else came along with the never ending dates. Money. Francis acquired admirers very easily and usually they loved showering him in gifts. Jewelry, silver, precious gems, and gold, things Francis had seen on the arms and ears of royalty. They were nice gifts, but Francis switched towns, and admirers, at the drop of a hat. He sold everything he received for hard money, something he could use for clothes, food, or board.

His entire life had become one big, never-ending dance. He switched villages like he switched dance partners, molding himself to the style of the village as he would to each new dance partner. It became easy, so very easy, in those days to forget of his life in his home village. In fact, in a lot of cases, Francis wanted to forget.

He couldn't forget forever, though.

Shortly after his eighteenth birthday, Francis' life changed forever with the accidental meeting of Arslan, the son of the wealthy and talented merchant, Sadiq Adnan.

He'd been between villages somewhere near Germany, riding on the back of a gorgeous chestnut mare named Longevity, a going away present from one of his admirers, when the sickly sweet smell of an Omega in heat wafted over the warm August breeze. Betas were not affected by an Omega in heat. Yes, they could mate with an Omega in heat and produce children, but they weren't driven by the desire like an Alpha would be.

At first, Francis thought nothing of the scent. Sometimes couples were known to leave the crowded villages for privacy. He'd suspected a newly mated couple had taken refuge in one of the secluded valleys. Hoping to keep clear of a big-headed and territorial Alpha, Francis went out of his way to walk Longevity away from the main trail, opting to stay close to the little stream running alongside the path.

It would be the decision that would dictate the next ten years of his life.

As Longevity accidently miss stepped and went stumbling into the stream, she neighed loudly, but not loud enough to drown out her master's curses as water splashed into his face. The entire world around Francis silenced only to erupt into screams.

In front of him, running from the bushes, was a young Omega boy wearing long robes. He was screaming and crying and the overwhelming smell of heat and fear made Francis want to gag. The boy, who looked to be no more than ten-years-old, ran towards Francis.

The boy was crying and screaming in a language Francis didn't know, but he could smell the distress. The smell of heat and stress was so strong that Francis was forced to cover his nose with his hand. It made Francis's skin crawl, even Longevity tensed underneath him as the boy approached.

A few moments later, a huffing and puffing Alpha ran out from the bushes. The little Omega running towards him flinched hard and screamed louder. Francis quickly urged Longevity forward and snatched the boy up from the ground by the back of his long robes. The boy required no coaxing to seek refuge in the older man's arms, digging his bony elbows deep into Francis' stomach as he clenched the man's shirt.

The Alpha stopped shortly before the duo and snarled.

"Something wrong, Alpha?" Francis asked in French, curious over the situation before him. He had an idea of what was happening, but he didn't want to assume too much. Honestly he just hoped the Alpha wasn't trying to do what he thought he was trying to do.

"Give me Omega," demanded the Alpha, stumbling over the French words.

It was in that moment that Francis confirmed how serious the situation was. The boy in his arms was obviously going through his first heat. To think that the fully grown Alpha in front of him wanted to breed such a young child was a sickening thought for the Beta.

"He's too young. He'd die if your seed took. His body is not ready."

Visibly angry, the Alpha stomped his feet on the ground. "I found him. He is mine. I claim him."

It was hard to deny an Alpha, especially an angry one, but Francis did it.

"No, I think not."

The Alpha charged, but Longevity was a retired racing horse with enough spunk to whinny when Francis pulled hard on her reigns and forced her into a gallop away from the man. The cursing of the Alpha soon disappeared completely as Longevity took the duo miles away from the steam and closer to the rocky terrain of the mountain ranges. The temperature dropped suddenly, causing Francis to wrap his arms tightly around the whimpering boy in his lap. Longevity had long since slowed down, but Francis didn't know what to do with the situation he was presented.

Ultimately, he knew he couldn't put off speaking to the boy any longer.

"What is your name, little one?" He kept his French slow; in case the boy was just learning.

"Arslan." The Omega replied with labored breath. Heats were hard, especially the first. Normally Francis would have suggested something to help, he had spent enough time with his mother during hers to know exactly how to take care of an Omega, but it felt wrong with someone so young. He didn't want to go against anything the boy's parents would want.

God forbid Francis be the one responsible for educating the boy about masturbating.

"You speak French, Arslan?"

The boy blinked before shaking his head, causing the material hanging from his hat to fly about in the wind. "Know little. Papa merchant. Talk a lot."

"Where is your Papa?"

"Paris. World's Fair."

Sighing, Francis knew the World's Fair was being held in Paris this year, but Paris was weeks away. Was he really going to backtrack all the way to Paris for a little boy whose father's negligence lost him in the first place?

"How did your Papa lose you?"

Arslan sniffled loudly a few times as he rubbed his eyes free of tears. "Accident. Papa. Want Papa."

Sighing again, Francis patted Longevity on the flank, before turning her around and heading west to Paris. He placed a hand on the back of Arslan back and patted a soothing rhythm onto his back.

"Sleep, little one, sleep."

* * *

A confidence man is essentially a con-man. That's just the name given to them during this time period.

In case you cared to know, if I used Hetalia characters that aren't ones usually used I'll put them at the bottom of the chapters.

Arslan = Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus

Sadiq = Turkey

Hope you guys have enjoyed this.


	3. Chapter 1 Part B

I simply adore the attention this is getting! It's my newest baby and I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I should have been writing my 20 page paper on Burma during WW2, but I needed a break. A serious break.

Enjoy.

* * *

As much as Francis wanted to get to Paris as quickly as possible, the roads were dangerous with Arslan in heat. They were forced to stop until his heat passed. It was nerve-wracking for Francis. He'd grown used to moving around and doing whatever he wanted. With little Arslan, though, his old lifestyle wasn't an option. For the first time in a long time Francis didn't wander amongst the wealthiest members of the village. Instead, he and the child roomed with a kind Beta woman on the outskirts of town.

Rebecca, the kindly Beta, helped Arslan through his heat. She provided him with the herbs and massages the Omega needed to sleep deeply through the ordeal. Apparently ten-years-old was entirely too young for an Omega to go into heat and it worried Rebecca. It also put a lot of strain on Arslan's young body. Francis had thought ten was young, but he wasn't an expert, he only knew what his mother taught him. Rebecca didn't fault him for his lack of knowledge, just thanked the deities that Francis was smart enough to get the boy off the road.

Arslan ended up costing them nearly two weeks of travel time. Rebecca wouldn't let them leave until she was sure the boy was healthy enough for the long journey. Once the boy was green-lighted, Francis pushed towards Paris. They had to get there before the end of the World's Fair or there would be no hope of finding Arslan's father.

It was a long journey. He'd pushed both himself and Longevity to the very edges of their endurances, but they made it to Paris within three weeks. Unfortunately, the fair was over. He and Arslan had walked to the fair site only to see it disbanded. Pavilions were being packed up and merchants were taking their wares to other places. The main attraction was gone. It was back to following the money.

Francis was angry. Mostly with himself for not insisting they leave Rebecca sooner, but also partly at Arslan's Nature. If Arslan hadn't have been an Omega, then they wouldn't have had this problem in the first place. Francis shook the negative thoughts away. It wouldn't do well for his morale to keep putting such thoughts into his mind. He tried to put on a smile for the little boy, but when he looked down, the child wasn't at his side.

Snapping his eyes up quickly to look for the boy, Francis saw Arslan race towards the back of a moving cart. He sped after the child.

"Arslan," he pleaded loudly in French, "stop, Arslan. We'll find your Papa."

Arslan only looked back to flash him a smile before yelling loudly in his native tongue at the back of the moving cart. The cart stopped and out stepped a tall, broad man in similar robes to Arslan. The only difference was the white mask covering the top half of the man's face.

"Papa!" Arslan cried as he reached for the man, who in turn lifted him high into the air and twirled with the child in his arms.

They spoke in the same strange language that Arslan usually mumbled in, but it was a refreshing sound. It meant that Arslan was safely home. Francis couldn't help but feel proud and happy that he'd seen the boy home. He waited a few moments, just to see if Arslan would remember him, before he turned to go back to Longevity. His task was done. He desired no reward so there was no point in sticking around.

"Frenchman."

Francis blinked and turned around to look at the man cradling Arslan in his arms. "Yes?"

The foreign man waved Francis forward and clapped him gently on the shoulder when he drew near. "My name is Sadiq Adnan and I wish to thank you," he said in accented French, "for finding my son. He is my only one and I thought I'd lost him forever."

"I was simply in the right place at the right time." Francis grinned at the boy. "Next time, watch him closer. He's a troublemaker."

Sadiq laughed loudly even as Arslan squawked, "I wish to repay you."

"No, I couldn't ask for anything."

Sadiq only shook his head and pulled on Francis's arm. "Surely there is something you desire? I'm a seller of wares, Frenchman, and trained to notice the tastes of all my customers. Plus," he grinned as he leaned close to the other man and whispered into his ear, "I won't take no for an answer."

Nor did he.

Francis learned quickly that Sadiq never let a favor go unpaid, especially not one involving his only child.

Sadiq was an unusual man. Wealthy as he was, he suffered from an embarrassing problem with his reproductive system. He'd lived long enough to acquire several different mates, a harem of sorts. Of course, it wasn't unusual for Alphas to take several mates at the same time. Usually it meant that the Alpha was wealthy enough to support a larger household.

Despite the great number of mates he had, Sadiq had only sired one Omega child. His seed simply wasn't taking with his mates. It would have been embarrassing for most Alphas, but Sadiq didn't seem too upset with his hand in life. He loved Arslan with all his heart and couldn't help but spoil the child.

Sadiq welcomed Francis into his pack nearly immediately. Introducing him to Arslan's mother and giving him a warm spot in his tent with plenty of food to fill his belly. At first it was awkward for Francis, because the man assumed that Sadiq wanted to repay him sexually, but as Sadiq began dragging Francis into the market, he learned that Sadiq had a different idea for repayment.

A wise man once said, "Give a man a fish and you'll feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and well, he'll never go hungry again."

Sadiq held strong to that belief. Though Francis didn't ask for it, Sadiq began teaching Francis how to be a good merchant. For two whole years he took the teenager and molded him into the perfect image of a merchant.

The man loved bartering. He could talk a customer up and down, just by listening to them. "Never let a customer think you know better than them," the man would say with a grin before bumping a price down just enough to keep his customer interested. He never had a customer walk away unsatisfied with the price. Nor was he ever unsatisfied with the profit he made off his customers.

He also taught Francis how to easily pick up languages. "A man is always easily impressed when you can carry on a simple conversation in his native language," Sadiq would whisper into Francis ear. He'd then go on to greet his customer, sometimes in Arabic, sometimes in French, and occasionally in German and English.

Somewhere along the way, Sadiq also taught Francis how to be himself again. He no longer had to dress himself up to impress high society nor hide his past. Sadiq knew about his mother, about his hometown, even about his ways on the road, but the man didn't blink an eye at his story.

They traveled and lived together for nearly two years before Sadiq decided it was time for him to go out on his own.

"We make our own destinies," Sadiq told Francis as they sat around a fire late one evening. They'd been staying mostly in France for the past few months; the money had been good there for a while. Unfortunately, Francis was feeling jumpy; they were getting close to his hometown. He tried to put it out of his mind and focus on Arslan. Little Arslan had hit a growth spurt, but still managed to crawl into his father's lap and sleep as the elder two spoke.

"You believe so?"

Sadiq nodded as he stroked Arslan's hair. "You saw how easy it was to run away, to succeed when everyone else wanted you to fail." Sadiq locked eyes with Francis before looking towards the East. "We're heading home. I am tired of being on the road. I am tired of this nomadic life."

Francis blinked before sitting up straight. "You can't be serious?"

"Oh, I am." Sadiq smiled sadly as he nudged Arslan to a more comfortable position in his lap. "My son is coming of age, it is time for me to return home and let him choose a worthy mate from our people."

"What of the business? You can't just leave it behind."

"I won't be, I'll still be in business," he chuckled to himself, "but, I'll manage it on a smaller scale closer to home. Bartering is in my blood, it's not something easily stopped. The business here, though, will be in good hands. I know you're going to make it into something I never dreamed it could be."

Francis stared dumbly at the man for a few minutes. "What? You're leaving it to me?"

Sadiq nodded before sadly looking down at his son, "Arslan will never be able to inherit my business. He's Omega. It's not acceptable for him to inherit this. All I can do is hope that his mate is good in the business." The masked man laughed quietly to himself, "I almost wish he were a little older or you a little younger. Though you are Beta, you're everything I would want for my son's mate. That's the life, I suppose."

Francis watched as Sadiq stood up with Arslan in his arms. "Sleep, Francis, tomorrow we're dividing the inventory."

Sadiq took his family and half of the inventory away the next morning. Francis would never admit to crying as he watched them leave, but his heart did swell and his eyes may have leaked as he watched Arslan wave at him from the back of the caravan.

On his own, Francis took everything he had learned and began building an empire. Within a year Francis had established his own reputation in marketplaces across Western Europe. For the first time ever he was rich from his own work, and happy. It was also the first time he thought about his mother. The same mother, who loved him, worked hard for him and was still rotting away in that tiny town.

The guilty thoughts of his mother gave him to reprieve, so, shortly before his twenty-second birthday, Francis went home.

* * *

After not being home for nearly six years, Francis expected there to be some miraculous change while he was gone. There wasn't, but that didn't stop Francis from hoping that the dirty town of his youth would be washed white.

It surprised Francis when he first entered the town, because no one seemed to recognize him. Of course he'd grown since he left, but surely they saw the resemblance between him and the boy they used to torture? If anyone did, they ignored it in favor of buying his yards of silk or jade pieces of jewelry.

There was only one who seemed interested in him and not his wares. A woman with her face wrapped in an ugly, dark scarf, only her eyes showing through the material. She stayed away from his horse drawn cart, but watched from afar with her blue eyes filled with an unknown emotion. He tried to call her over several times, but she ignored him only to continue watching him. At first, Francis thought it was his mother, but the figure was too girlish to be his mother. He remembered her being a little fuller around the hips and bosom.

Whoever the girl was, she stayed right at the edge of Francis' vision until the last of the town's people left and he was beginning to close the cart down for the night. It was only then that the girl stepped forward and promptly smacked him on the back.

Flailing slightly but still managing to ready himself to attack back, Francis spun around and pinned his assailant to the side of his cart. "Just what do you think you're doing!?"

The scarf around his assailant's head had come undone to reveal a young woman, probably about eighteen-years-old, with eyes burning with anger. "No, just who do you think you are? Finally, coming back here after all these years? She tried to wait for you! Kept hoping that you'd show up, but you never came."

"What? Who are you talking about?"

The girl snarled and jumped in Francis' arms. "Your mother! You left for six years, sent no letter, no nothing! Do you know how she suffered? She died waiting for you to come."

All of a sudden, Francis' entire world had come crashing down. Of all the ways he imagine his return to go, he never pictured his mother being dead when he arrived. He assumed that life would be easier for her after he left. One less mouth to feed and all. "She's…she's gone?"

The girl stopped fighting and sighed sadly, "Oh Francis, you honestly thought she'd still be alive when you returned? She'd been sick for a long time, surely you knew?"

Francis numbly shook his head, "She was supposed to live."

The girl frowned before taking his hand and leading him out of the cold. "Come, let's get you somewhere warm. We'll talk more once the shock wears off."

"Wait," Francis said as he tried to resist the girl's strong grip, "who are you?"

"Jeanne," the girl said with a smile before fixing her scarf, "I'm Jeanne. I was your mother's nurse; I worked for the church run hospital from two towns over. She's told me all about you."

Francis didn't know it at the time, but Jeanne was his future, all wrapped up in an ugly black scarf.

* * *

If I'm not shipping FrUS or FrUk, I'm a diehard FrJoan fan. Actually, let's be honest, I'm a "as long as the story is good and keeps me from homework" fan. For now, I'm back to the gritty world of WW2.

Until next time,

Rayne


End file.
